Once Upon a Time
by tklivory
Summary: This series is stand-alone stories for Dragon Age that are written after the pattern of Fairy Tales and Brothers Grimm stories, but more modern. They are part parody/part humor but remain true to the characters of Dragon Age. Rating for slight smuttiness.
1. Once Upon a Time: Zevran

**Once Upon a Time: Zevran**

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NOTE: This is a fairy tale. The narrator is trying to make it friendly for kids, but messes up occasionally.

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_Once upon a time_, there was a poor little orphan elf boy. His father kicked it early, and the boy's mother took him to the safety of a broth- a whor- a _place for women with no other choice _and made sure that he would be taken care of before she shuffled off the mortal coil. At a young age he was bought for the paltry sum of three sovereigns. Actually, considering the price of gold, that ain't a bad de-*slapping sound*

Right, sorry, where was I?

The poor orphan boy was trained in the art of being not-nice to lots of people, and became very good at doing many not-nice things to those he was told to be not-nice to. However, in the broth- whor- place where he grew up, he had started his apprenticeship in the art of being _very_-nice and _extremely-pleasant-to-be-around_, and his training after he was bought only increased his prowess in that regard.

One day, the poor orphan elf boy went on a trip with two friends, except one of them was a pretty and kind elf maide- well, woman, anyway, and the other was a mean, deceitful son of a bi- er, man. The mean, deceitful son of a bi- _er, MAN_ told the poor orphan elf boy that the pretty and kind elf virg- *sigh* _woman_ was going to run and tattle about their trip to the wrong people, and the poor orphan elf boy believed the mean, deceitful son of a bi- _aargh!_evil-bad-guy. Together they did some very not-nice things to the pretty and kind elf girl (whew) and she ended up not being able to complete the trip with them.

When the poor orphan elf boy found out that the mean, deceitful evil-bad-guy had lied, that the pretty and kind elf lass was, in fact, just as she appeared to be, he got very sad and decided that he wanted to leave the mean, deceitful evil-bad-guy and the other black feathered corbies and rejoin the pretty and kind elf wenc-er, miss.

The poor orphan elf boy heard tell of a great warrior that some not-nice General wanted dead, and he thought that perhaps this great warrior could help him rejoin the pretty and kind elf damsel, so he approached the great warrior for help. After an initial misunderstanding, the poor orphan elf boy decided to join with the great warrior, who turned out to be smokin' hot mam- er, deadly sex- um, beautiful Warden.

As they continued on their journey, the poor orphan elf boy and the beautiful Warden grew quite close together. Time passed as they traveled across the face of Thedas, seeing such romantic sites as the moon shining over Lake Caledhan, the sun setting over the Korcari Wilds, the dark ichor of a spider lair in the Ortan Thaig, the gloomy emptiness of Brecilian Ruins, the heady scent of rotting bodies at Ostagar, and the inert ashes of a dead woman in a cavern guarded by a dead dude.

With these wondrous incentives to encourage smexytimes, is it any wonder that eventually, the passion between the poor orphan elf boy and the beautiful Warden waxed into a fire that could not be suppressed or expressed with mere words? That the seemingly innocent offer of a simple massage quickly progressed into a smooth caress of very-nice feelings? That the lithe, supple body of the poor orphan elf boy, magnificently lacking all clothing, became entwined multitudinous times with the soft yet muscular eagerness that was the beautiful Warden? That his clever, agile tongue explored every inch, every curve, every crevice of the quivering figure that lay below him and, at times, above him? That her hands traced a path that delineated every graceful tattoo on the poor orphan elf boy's body, especially the one that started in the middle of his chest and went down to his-

*slapping sound*

Er, right. *fans self*

Anyway, eventually the poor orphan elf boy realized that his feelings towards the beautiful Warden had gone beyond the simple phase of hair-pulling to get her attention (yes, on her head, pay attention!) and had progressed into an area that he had only ventured before with the pretty and kind elf maide- virg- _lass._ Unsure of how to tell the beautiful Warden what he was feeling, the poor orphan elf boy started spouting atrocious poetry and avoiding certain topics altogether.

Eventually, the mean, deceitful son of a bi- um, putz showed up and tried to do several not-nice things to the beautiful Warden. The poor orphan elf boy stood by his beautiful Warden, and together they showed the mean, deceitful son of a bi- ugh, diddlysquat how not-nice things _should _be done. Of course, they also had to do a _lot _of not-nice things to all the stupid assh- er, dolts who had tagged along for the giggles, but that's okay because they were probably all jerks anyway.

At that moment, the poor orphan elf boy realized that his feelings for the beautiful Warden had progressed beyond a dance between the sheets to a dance between their hearts, and he realized that he would probably never be able to put what he felt into words that adequately expressed the depth of his epiphany. So, when the poor orphan elf boy first tried to give his most precious possession - the very first object that he, himself, had earned without any help from anyone - he couldn't open his soul and tell her why, and the beautiful Warden refused. Saddened, the poor orphan elf boy retreated into himself, not even allowing them the ardor of naked bodies intertwined in divine, glorious, mind-blowing-

*slap* Heeeey!

Eventually, the beautiful Warden approached him and told him he was being a silly poo and that if the poor orphan elf boy really wanted her to take the ring, then it had better damn well mean what she thought it should mean.

So the poor orphan elf boy gave her the ring, and that night all the stalwart companions of the beautiful Warden enjoyed a fine night of uninterrupted stargazing and an education in the art of how to be very-nice and very-loud while being treated very-nice.

The End


	2. Once Upon a Time: Alistair

**Once Upon a Time: Alistair**

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_Once upon a time,_ a young thief was saved from certain death by an anti-hero named Duncan. A lot of bad stuff happened after that, but this is a fairy tale, so we'll skip past the deaths, the fire, the monsters, the arrows, more deaths, more fire, more monsters, more arrows, lots more deaths, lots more fire, lots more monsters, and lots more arrows, and get straight to the part where she found a handsome prince that had been at her side all along.

At first she was angry with the prince for lying to her. "You said you were nothing special!" she cried in protest. "You said that you were raised by flying devout dogs from the remote mountains of a distant land!"

He directed a huge set of puppy eyes in her direction. "Isn't that special, too?"

And so the young thief succumbed to the puppy eyes, forgave the prince, and decided that she would try her hardest to live happily ever after.

They continued on their journey, doing all kinds of icky things like fighting undead skeletons, cadavorous pallored darkspawn, tentacled and many nippled monstrosities, many fanged werewolves, and totally crazy dragon cult men, but again, this is a fairy tale, so we won't mention that - or, for that matter, the stupid idiots of Orzammar who used the young thief like a wet tissue or the Templars in the Tower who made all kinds of promises and then pulled back their hand saying, "Ha! Just kidding!" (Meanie Templars)

Finally, they revived the stupid git who had sent the handsome prince away to the dark, dull, _repressive_ Chantry and for some strange reason decided to follow his advice in trying to solve the problems before them. (yeah, like he showed _real_ good discernment in his choice of wife, I know). Despite his clear lack of good judgment, Arl Eamon also decided that the handsome prince should somehow become king, which, as we all know, is horrible and manipulative (because this was totally a setup for Eamon to become the evil vizier in control of the throne. Stupid git.)

With the help of some stalwart companions, the young thief and the handsome prince made it all the way to the Landsmeet, a great big meeting where a whole bunch of adults acted like a bunch of spoiled children arguing over who got to sit on a special time-out chair that apparently had cradled the ass of many an important man in the history of Ferelden. Finally, after a lot of arguing and head-butting and sword swinging and more fighting and more head-butting and more sword swinging, the young thief lost her patience.

So she did some very not-nice things to a General that had done not-nice things to her and the handsome prince (the which I can't tell you because this is a fairy tale, and it ain't Grimm), then put the Queen on the special throne so she could join the other asses that had sat on the throne, turned to the handsome prince and said, "Let's beat it. Got an Archdemon to kill."

And there was much rejoicing.

Later, a poopyhead called Riordan told them that one of them would have to die. After slapping him upside the head and storming off, the young thief found that her wonderful friend Morrigan would gladly help them avoid that fate if _some really not appropriate things for a fairy tale stuff_ was done. Gritting her teeth, the young thief gave the handsome prince his bedding orders. Fuming, she waited for him to be done, loofah and scrubber in hand.

Later, they fought their way through the streets of a big, dirty city. The poopyhead (not surprisingly) fell to his death because he didn't know that you can't ride a flying, bucking, fire-breathing dragon without fear of reprisal, but I doubt the young thief would really miss him.

After a fierce battle on the high roof somewhere, the young thief lost her patience again. So she did some very not-nice things to the not-nice Archdemon, kissed her handsome prince, and rode off into the sunset with him.

The End


	3. Once Upon a Time: Morrigan

_On his fifth birthday, the Old God Baby asks where he comes from. Morrigan delegates the task of explanation to someone else… a moment of incredibly bad judgment on her part._

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**Once Upon a Time: Morrigan**

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_Once upon a time,_ there was a beautiful young girl who was raised by a mean, nasty old witch in the middle of freakin' nowhe—er, the Korcari Wilds. Although she was not mistreated, the beautiful young girl—hold on a minute, wait, weren't you used as bait for Templars? And your first treasure was broken to pieces in front of you? And you had to watch your mother do squicky things with random men while she killed—

Oh, you turned out stronger for it? Okaaaay, but let's just skip ahead, shall we?

So the beautiful young girl turned into a beautiful young woman, with sultry golden eyes and the ability to shoot a web to a distance of twenty feet… Did I get that right? _Shoot a web?_ Oh, you can become a spider? Huh. Cool. And a bear? Really. _And_ a swarm of insects?

How come I get the feeling I wouldn't like you when you're angry?

So one day the mean, nasty old witch kicked the beautiful young woman to the cur—I mean, requested that she leave her home and join a stalwart hero and his foolish companion so that they could save Thedas from the horrors of the Blight. What, that wasn't why she sent you? Then why-? All right, put the staff down, forget I asked!

Right. So the beautiful young woman joined the stalwart hero in his journey across the land. And despite the bumblings of the foolish companion and the other idiots that got picked up along the way like a litter of lost puppies – well, except for the Mabari, who actually _was_ a lost puppy, and was _still_ smarter than the foolish companion – the group did a pretty good job in stomping around Fereldan and slapping some sense into the recalcitrant doodyheads who for some reason had to be reminded that a Blight is generally a bad thing.

Yes, foolishness, I know.

At some point during the wandering, the beautiful young woman noticed that the stalwart hero was the least foolish of her new allies, and decided that she might as well give him instruction in the ancient art of making the beast with two backs. It turns out that the stalwart hero must have had some shapechanging ability of his own, because he was extremely _good_ at making the beast with two backs. In fact, he enjoyed the experience so much that practically every night was spent in your mother's tent practicing the beast with two backs so that he could make absolutely sure that his form was perfect and without any flaw whatsoever. It was a really good thing that he had a tremendous amount of stamina, because making the beast with two backs really took a lot of staying power, especially when your mother—

Hey, hey, hey, watch it with the lightning! You almost hit me!

Anyway, it was around this time that the beautiful young woman discovered that the mean, nasty old witch actually had very not-nice plans regarding the beautiful young woman. It turns out that the mean, nasty old witch was very jealous of the luminous allure of the beautiful young woman, and was plotting to take away everything from the beautiful young woman out of spite. When the stalwart hero discovered the mean, nasty old witch's plans, he bravely set forth with his litter of lost puppi—um, foolish compan— I mean, brave buddies and vowed that he would make sure that the mean, nasty old witch would never more be able to take anything from your mother ever again.

It turned into a not-nice fight when the mean, nasty old witch turned into a huge, fire-breathing dragon and—

What's that, child? Yes, a dragon. Yes, just like Grandma. No, I don't know when she will visit us next. She mentioned something about going to Kirkwall, remember? No, I don't know why. Do you want me to tell you about your mother or not?

So the stalwart hero and his brave buddies defeated the monstrous dragon, and thus the mean, nasty old witch could no longer take anything away from the beautiful young woman. In gratitude, the beautiful young woman placed a chaste kiss upon the lips of her stalwart hero and gifted him with a ring of—

Yes, it was a magic ring. *Sigh* No, it didn't make the stalwart hero invisible if he put it on. (Kids these days, I tell ya…)

_At any rate,_ the time finally came that all the doodyheads managed to summon the competence required to gather their forces and get them marching in the right direction. It was then that the stalwart hero discovered that to end the Blight, some very not-nice terminal things would have to happen to him. As he pondered this problem, your mother approached him and let him know that all the practice with making the beast with two backs would actually help protect him from the very not-nice terminal things, especially if they did it one last time in a very special way. Gratefully, the stalwart hero agreed to make the beast with two backs one more time with your mother, since he didn't really want to find out the exact details of the very not-nice terminal things he had been warned about, and, even though the foolish companion was foolish, he liked the poor guy and didn't want the very not-nice terminal things to happen to him, either.

It was during this final session of the making of the beast with two backs that your mother decided that she wanted a lovely reminder of the stalwart hero, since he had the ring she had given to him. So she asked him to give her a small part of himself – well, okay, admittedly not a _small _part, but that's a story for when you're older - to help make you. The stalwart hero, flattered, agreed, and thus you came into being.

Well, of course you were a lot smaller then. But you're bigger today than you were on your last birthday, right? So you've just grown a lot since then, that's all.

What? How did the stalwart hero give himself to your mother? Ummm…

Tell you what, let's save that for your next birthday.

The End


	4. Once Upon a Time: Leliana  Take One

_For a slight change: this starts silly but doesn't stay that way... There be filks ahead! (list of songs at the bottom of the post) _

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**Once Upon a Time: Leliana Take One**

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_Having written a short piece in honor of the late Hero of Fereldan, Leliana asks King Alistair and Queen Anora to allow her to arrange a musical faire in his honor. They agree, much to her later chagrin. In this piece, Leliana herself is the Master of Ceremonies._

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Welcome to the _Once Upon a Time_ Musical Faire! I'm very pleased to see so many families of Denerim here to support this new endeavor. We have a lot of participants who have signed up for this event, so to make sure that everyone gets a chance to perform the pieces they've worked so hard on, let's get started without any further delay.

First to the stage I'd like to welcome my dear frie—well, former traveling companion. Please welcome Oghren!

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_There was a bard who had red hair  
>E-I-E-I-Oooooh!<br>And on her back she had a bow  
>E-I-E-I-Oooooh!<br>With an arrow here, and an arrow there,  
>Here a death, there a death, everywhere a— <em>*uuurp*_ *_thud*

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Um, yes, thank you, Oghren. That was…typical. Can someone please help get him off the stage? And make sure he's not left near any open flames, just to be safe.

And now, it's my pleasure to introduce everyone's favorite apostate, Anders! I'm so grateful you could join us so soon after becoming a Grey Warden. He has a lovely tenor, so please, remain quiet during his performance.

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_Somewhere inside the Chantry, where truth dies,  
>There's a bard that I heard once, singing a bunch of lies,<em>

_Somewhere inside the Chantry, where she prayed,  
>She had dreams that she dared to dream where she got la—<em>

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Wonderful, excellent, moving on, moving on! Next up is the much-renowned rouser of the Alienage, Shianni! Take it away, Shianni!

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_Strum, strum, strum your lute  
>Gently with your pick<br>Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,  
>Shems are all such pri—<em>

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Thank you, Shianni! That certainly was… incredible. And now, please welcome my dear friend, Zevran Arainai!

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_When you call upon a bard,  
>Makes no difference who you are<br>Anything your cash can buy,  
>She'll do for you<em>

_If your plans require a death_  
><em>No request is too extreme<em>  
><em>When you call upon a bard<em>  
><em>As nobles do<em>

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Wonderful-thank-you-please-get-off-the-stage.

Well, that's unfortunate, it looks like all our other performers are unable to perform their pieces. _I said, it looks like all our other performers are unable to perform their pieces._ *draws daggers* Any objections? Oh, Shale, you wish to— Well, fine, as long as it is quick. *sheathes daggers*

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_There once was a bard from Orlais  
>Who journeyed with Wardens of Grey<br>Her shoes were quite pretty  
>Thus it is such a pity<br>That she never was good in the ha—_

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That's not even a song! I don't care if you _are_ made of rock, _**get off the stage**._

All right, that's it! This was supposed to celebrate the life of the Hero of Fereldan, and by damn, you are all going to listen to _real_ music and understand what truly happened.

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_Once upon a time, a girl with sorrow in her eyes  
>Found some peace and rest and prayed to ease her soul<br>But that was once upon a time, oh so long ago_

_Once upon a time, she dreamed of darkness o'er the land  
>Rousing from her sleep, she left to fight the spawn<br>But that was once upon a time, now the spawn are gone_

_Then the girl with fire in her hair  
>Grew to love the Hero and found the answer to her prayer<br>They were young and didn't have a care  
>Where did it go?<em>

_Once upon a time Fereldan almost met its end_  
><em>'Til a Hero strong gave up his life, and then…<em>  
><em>But somehow once upon a time cannot come again<em>

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_Tunes used for filks above:_

Oghren – _Old MacDonald Had a Farm_

Anders – _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_

Shianni – _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_

Zevran – _When You Wish Upon a Star_

Shale – generic limerick (no song)

Leliana – _Once Upon a Time (check out YouTube for an example, I used Tony Bennett's version for inspiration)_


	5. Once Upon a Time: Leliana Take Two

_Warning: there be innuendon'ts ahead!_

_Dictionary at the ready, folks? In my mind, Leliana is a studious, spirited storyteller, and that means (in my twisted tale) she has a specific speaking style when it comes to imparting important information. I hope you enjoy this small, swift story, but it does mandate a modicum of mental maneuvering. (and yes, Leliana absolutely adores alliterations… and "euphemisms for erotic expression"…)_

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**Once Upon a Time: Leleiana Take Two**

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_Many years after the end of the Blight, Dan and Leliana Cousland travel to Denerim to visit King Alistair and Queen Maggie. While visiting, their children ambush Leliana and ask her to tell the story of how Leliana and Dan met and fell in love. Of course, Alistair and Dan try to help…_

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_Once upon a time,_ there was a lovely lady with fire in her hair who fled from a lying, deceitful bi—ahem, that is, a vulgar virago and found perfect peace in the Chantry. For many years she reveled in her idyllic isolation within the Maker's mansion, and— Yes, Dan, I "knelt at the altar" many times while I was there. I've told you that before. Why bring it up now? And why are you suddenly blushing? It's rather easy to tell when you do, you know, your entire scalp turns beet red. Yes, Alistair, I did "get to know myself" quite well. What? No, not loudly! What _is _it with you and your obsession with making noise in the Chantry?

Anyway, after several seasons in the Chantry, the lovely lady with fire in her hair had a vision sent by the Maker, a vision warning of dark days and danger ahead. Disturbed, the lovely lady went to the garden, and there saw a fantastic flower of particular pulchritude and— How could I "gild the lily" if it was a rose, Alistair? That doesn't even make sense. At any rate, the lovely lady with fire in her hair packed her bags and left the Chantry, knowing that the Maker would guide her to where she needed to go.

And so the lovely lady with fire in her hair was in the tavern at Lothering when- What's that, Jacen? Oh, what's a tavern? Alistair, have you never told your son what a tavern is? Well, Jacen, a tavern is a place where grown-ups gather to drink and discuss current affairs. _No,_ not to _conduct_ affairs, Dan. Honestly! So the lovely lady with fire in her hair was in the tavern at Lothering when a glabrous gallant entered, the lingering light of the sun glinting off of his bare—Yes, Cecile, I am talking about your father. *Sigh* Yes, darling daughter, glabrous means bald.

The glabrous gallant immediately ran into trouble with some nefarious nincompoops that had been sent by the detestable dictator that had effected a recreant retreat at the battle of Ostagar. With the aid of the lovely lady with the fire in her hair, the glabrous gallant was able to run off the nefarious nincompoops like the dastadly dogs they were, and— Well, yes, Marcus, you could say that your father and I did "sink the soldier." Alistair, will you please stop giggling like that? It is quite distracting.

The lovely lady with fire in her hair then joined the glabrous gallant in his quest to rid the land of the Blight. They traveled far and wide, gathering allies for the battle that was to come, the battle with the abominable Archdemon, the loathsome leader of the dreadful Darkspawn. It was during this time that the lovely lady with fire in her hair and the glabrous gallant felt drawn towards each other. Before long they were— What weeds? Alistair, why on Thedas would Dan have "whistled in the weeds?" Do you mean "whistling in the dark?" Well, yes, actually he did do that, remember? You were there. What do you mean, everyone always knew when he was "whistling in the weeds?" He doesn't whistle _that_ loudly.

At any rate, the glabrous gallant and the lovely lady with fire in her hair grew so close together that at one point the glabrous gallant even gifted the lovely lady with fire in her hair with the most enticing endowment a girl could hope to receive. Why, yes, Dan, I am talking about the nug! It was so cute. I named it Schmooples, you know. You look so disappointed, my love. What endowment did you think I meant— Oh. _Oh._ No, Cecile, your mother isn't blushing, it's just…suddenly rather hot in here.

Moving on, the lovely lady with the fire in her hair and the glabrous gallant fell in luscious love with each other. _Yes_, Alistair, I _am _a bard, of _course_ I am proficient at playing the flute. I'll have you know that I am a master flute player. See? Dan agrees with me. "None better" at playing the flute. Now please stop interrupting. Yes, my love, I did play the flute with you a lot during the journey. But that's not really relevant right now, is it? Are you all right? You seem rather… flushed.

Unfortunately, the vulgar virago was not yet finished in her scandalous schemes against the lovely lady with fire in her hair. She sent some beastly bastards after the lovely lady with fire in her hair with odious orders to callously kill her and her courageous companions. After a ferocious fight, the glabrous gallant discovered the vulgar virago's ignominious intent and immediately set off to Denerim. Yes, Dan, we "went to town". Together, the glabrous gallant and the lovely lady with fire in her hair confronted the vulgar virago in an encounter of epic extent. What? _No,_ Alistair, we did _not_ "clean the carpet". In fact we got blood all over it. You were _there._

With the vulgar virago vanquished, the glabrous gallant and the lovely lady with fire in her hair were able to face the future together, completely confident that nothing would be able to drive them apart. And that's how we met.

Now, if you'll excuse us, my handsome husband has promised me a "seafood dinner".

The End

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_Just assume anything in quotation marks deserves a blush, and you won't be far off. I wonder if I should change the rating for _Once Upon a Time_ to "M"?_


	6. Once Upon a Time: Dog

_Sit back, relax, and enjoy this tale of the most loyal of the Warden's Companions._

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**Once Upon a Time: Dog**

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_Two Mabari puppies play together under the sun, attacking each other with a mock ferocity appropriate to their nature. A shadow falls over them, and they break apart excitedly and run about their sire, excitedly trying to get his attention. As they throw themselves under and around him, they begin insisting, over and over in the manner of cute and adorable puppies, to hear his story once more, the saga of how their sire became Our People's Chosen Guardian of the Hero of Fereldan._

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_Once in the Time-That-Was,_ I, Spawn Killer, was badly wounded in a ferocious battle with the enemy in the Place-of-Ancient-Stone. It was while I lay stricken from my valiant wounds, at the mercy of the poison that was in the blood of the adversary, that She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored first approached me. Though I did not yet know her, I sensed in the way of Our People that this two-legger was to be the one with whom I was destined to travel.

Though her first action was to restrain my mighty mandibles, I understood that she did so as a form of protection for the lesser two-legger who fed Our People in the Place-of-Ancient-Stone, so I forgave her the impertinence. When later She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored returned and gave He-Who-Fed-Us the plant that would ensure the blood of the abominations would not conquer me, I realized that Those-Who-Made-Us intended for me to be her Guardian and Companion.

Later, as the last remnants of my assailant's defilement drained from me and my strength returned in full, I sensed the approach of many foes to the Place-of-Ancient-Stone. In that first assault, He-Who-Fed-Us died valiantly as he strove to unleash our wrath upon those who besieged us. As we overwhelmed the enemies, I discerned that She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was without my protection, and vowed to reach her side regardless of what stood between us.

My epic journey began as with all due speed I launched myself across the Arch-Over-Chasm and followed the scent of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored to the Tall-Stone-of-Death. As I went, I came across many enemies that had been felled by her blades, and I admired the artistry with which my soon-to-be Companion destroyed all in her path. At the door of the Tall-Stone-of-Death, one particular carcass caught my attention: the most powerful enemy faced thus far lay silent, its head cleanly removed by sharp skill. In awe of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored's battle prowess, I decided to commemorate her wonder by ensuring that the Mark of Dominance among Our People saturated that severed head.

As I followed her aura up the Tall-Stone-of-Death, the signs of massacre continued, to my great approval. Eventually I encountered others of Our People, and inquired as to when She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored had passed by.

"That two-legger is to be your Companion?" one of the fellows, a truly ferocious brute known as Death Destroyer, noted approvingly. We all raised our muzzles and sang our joy to Those-Who-Made-Us before continuing. "We have decided to call her Metal Wind in honor of her speed and lethality." I nodded. It was a good name, the name of a true warrior. Turning to all of Our People who stood there, Death Destroyer barked, "Come! Let us accompany this worthy Guardian to the side of his Chosen Companion."

Together, we journeyed through the rest of the Tall-Stone-of-Death, until we reached a room in which a light like unto the sun blazed forth. There, many of the foul ones were present. Most, alas, had already perished, but enough remained among the living to afford us some pleasant diversion. As Death Destroyer evoked his name upon the final foe, I came to the realization that She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was not in the Room-of-Sun. I did notice, however, that a behemoth, one of the Large-Horned-Ones, lay dead upon the floor, the scent of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored upon it.

In pride, we gathered around the Large-Horned-One and sang our praise to Those-Who-Made-Us. In honor of the bravura required to defeat such an enemy, I climbed to the top of the corpse and bestowed not only the Mark of Dominance of Our People, but also the more enduring and odoriferous Proof of Supremacy.

After having deposited the Proof of Supremacy, I barked in farewell to the others of Our People who were present, leapt from the top of the deceased Large-Horned-One, and began anew my search for She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored.

I do not recall for how many days I wandered through the Swamp-of-Many-Deaths after that, or how many of the Spawn I killed and sang praise over. It was in this time that I earned my name in full, and Marked my Dominance upon the bodies of my slain enemies more times than I had ever done so before. I only knew that I must continue in my quest, for She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored required my aid, and I would not fail her.

And thus it came to be that I caught wind of a large group of aggressors lying in wait at the edge of the Swamp-of-Many-Deaths. Immediately suspicious, I stealthily made my way towards them, seeking to discern the exact nature of their prey. And then the scent, that most glorious of bouquets, came over the wind to my nose. _They were waiting for _She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored!

Grimly I burst from my place of hiding and charged through the Spawn, dodging all attempts to strike a blow, and ran down the Path-of-Two-Leggers until I beheld the glory of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored. Calling ahead a warning, I reached her side. Allowing myself only a brief, glorious moment of oneness with Metal Wind, I turned to regard the approaching ambushers, barked once in anticipation, and launched myself among them. She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored followed close behind, and for the first time we engaged in magnificent melee together, each acting as an extension of the other. My teeth flashed in perfect harmony with her singing blades, and I felt the blessing of Those-Who-Made-Us surround us and bind us.

All too quickly, such bliss was over. In appreciation of our first battle together, I approached She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored and cleansed her of the foulness that covered her. She thanked me with the Scratches-That-Are-Wondrous, then wrapped her arms around me.

And so it was that I joined as Guardian and Companion to She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored. It was a pity that her other companions were so slow and helpless in battle, but Those-Who-Made-Us at least had the wisdom to ensure that I would be by her side during the time of Darkness.

Even if she did insist on calling me Pookie.

The End


	7. Once Upon a Time: Sten of the Beresaad

_I envision the Qunari as formal, ritualistic, and abstract in thought, as the Qun is more a way of life than a religion. They instinctively understand metaphor and parable in a way that has to be taught in other cultures, and as a result become attached to "the way things are" rather than "the way things might be". One of the driving principles of the Qun is _**asit tal-eb**_, "The way things are meant to be" and I tried to reflect that in the story. _

_Since this story is recorded in the history of the Qunari, I utilized metaphor to describe the people within the story. Thus, Sten is referred to as 'an arrow of the vanguard', and the Arishok is the 'Body of the Qunari'. The Grey Warden is referred to as the 'bow' since she ends up using Sten to fight the Darkspawn. Also, remember that Sten is his title, not his name, so that Sten of the Beresaad actually means "Commander of the Vanguard."_

_I have included a glossary of terms and phrases at the end of the story. This story is, like the one for Dog, from the perspective of one who has very different thought patterns than anyone else in the game._

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

**Once Upon a Time: Sten of the Beresaad**

_._

_._

_As it always has been, so it always shall be._

_Those who journey from the lands of the Qunari and into the lands of the heathen shall, upon their return, recount their _tarikh _to the _Tamassrans_ so that all of the Qunari may be enlightened. As we are enlightened, so may we be strengthened, and as we are strengthened, so may we instruct the heathen in the way of the _Qun_. Thus decrees the Arishok, the Arigena, and the Ariqun: that the _Tarikh_ of the Qunari endure, and that the _Qun_ be taught to those in need._

_As it always has been, so it always shall be._

_This, then, is the _tarikh_ of Sten of the Beresaad._

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_In a time that came before,_ the Soul of the Qunari perceived that the Darkness foretold in the _Tarikh_ of our Lands From Before rose far to the south of Par Vollen. Thus the Soul consulted with the Mind and the Body of the Qunari, and the Body sent forth a flight of arrows from the vanguard to journey to the distant realm known as Fereldan and return with the _tarikh_ and knowledge of the Darkness.

In the distant realm of Fereldan, the arrows of the vanguard found themselves surrounded on all sides by that which would be inconceivable among the Qunari: women who were warriors, merchants who dreamed of titles, nobles who collected wealth, mages who coveted freedom, and warriors who longed for passivity. Even as the arrows of the vanguard struggled to reconcile these notions, they searched for the answer to that question which had sent them aloft to land in the confusing quagmire that was Fereldan.

It was while the arrows of the vanguard lay resting by the shores of the Lake surrounding the Tower which restrained the wildfire of magic that the Darkness rose from the very ground around them, overwhelming the arrows of the vanguard in an assault as craven as it was effective. Though the arrows of the vanguard pierced much of the Darkness in the battle that followed and broke the Darkness that threatened to overwhelm them, many were the broken shafts of the arrows of the vanguard following the battle.

Of all the arrows of the vanguard sent forth by the Body of the Qunari, one remained whole, though the fletching was torn and the head scarred and warped. So it was that Sten of the Beresaad succumbed to the Darkness and lay as one dead upon the battlefield.

When he emerged from the little death, he found that he was yet as one dead, for his soul, his _Asala_, was gone from his side. In his soulless state, the arrow of the vanguard acted without honor and slew the heathen that had taken him from the battlefield, slaughtering all of them without calculation or hatred. He then waited calmly as those who served justice in the realm of Fereldan took him, declared him broken and corrupt, and placed him in a physical prison that was but a weak reflection of the cage into which he had already placed himself.

The arrow of the vanguard thus reflected upon his actions, seeking the wisdom of the Qun in his contemplation: _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._ "Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun."

When meditation failed or proved too difficult to achieve, he maintained his discipline by observing that which was around him. It was during this time that the arrow of the vanguard noted that the language of this distant realm of Fereldan contained far too many words that began with the letter G.

After several weeks of waiting for _kata_ to finally claim him, another came in its stead, one who also sought knowledge of the Darkness and its end. This seeming _imekari_ approached the lone arrow of the vanguard and tore down the cage which he had built about himself with a simple challenge, a challenge worthy of the Qunari: to restore the honor that was lost. Though he knew not how this would be accomplished, he accepted the challenge, and allowed himself to become an arrow in the quiver of the seeming _imekari_, the one who called herself a Grey Warden.

Thus did the arrow place itself within a new bow, though it was his faith in the Qun and a_sit tal-eb_ that upheld him in the times that followed. In the seeming _imekari_, the bow which launched him towards his enemies and against the Darkness, he perceived many of the inconceivable notions that he had encountered previously in Fereldan. Here was one who did not know the Qun, who did not accept _asit tal-eb_, who fought skillfully despite being a woman, who fought not because she was born to it but because she chose to. Slowly and painfully, he learned that perhaps inconceivable did not mean what he thought it meant.

More than once, the arrow rebelled against the bow and sought to become the bow itself, but each time the bow proved obdurate in purpose and relentless in strength, and the arrow of the vanguard finally submitted fully to the seeming _imekari._ As the arrow of the vanguard placed himself completely under her command, the bow performed many seemingly inexplicable actions, traveling without apparent reason or intelligence, and yet always somehow moving them closer to the goal of defeating the Darkness.

And then the bow, the seeming _imekari,_ proved that she was no mere _imekari_ after all. In the far distant hamlet of Redcliffe Village, a town of admittedly little import on the southern shores of Lake Caledhan, the seeming _imekari _displayed the discernment and sense of purpose reserved for the _ashkaari_ and found that which had been lost: _Asala_.

In wonderment, the arrow of the vanguard held his soul close to him, feeling once again worthy to be Qunari, worthy to be Sten of the Beresaad, worthy to once again walk the shores of Seheron. He perceived that could now make his return flight to the Body of the Qunari and give them the _tarikh_ of the Darkness and provide the answer to the question for which he had gone into the wilds of Fereldan and been forced to endure so much that was alien and _wrong_.

Or he could remain in Fereldan, amongst the smell of dogs and rotting garbage, and completely restore his honor at the side of the only heathen he would ever consider worthy of respect.

And thus the arrow of the vanguard remained for a while longer cocked in the bow of his newfound _kadan_, certain in the knowledge that whether the battle against the Darkness ended in _kata_ or _ataash_, he would serve the Qun and surrender to _asit tal-eb_. For, as the _Tarikh_ teaches, _ataash varin kata_.

And along the way, there would be cookies, and, he was told, cake.

_Attash varin kata_

.

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><p>.<p>

_bonus cookies for anyone who caught the Princess Bride reference. :)_

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_Arigena – _ crafts leader (the 'Mind' of the Qunari)  
><em>Ariqun –<em> head priest(ess) (the 'Soul' of the Qunari)  
><em>Arishok <em>– war leader (the 'Body' of the Qunari)  
><em>Ashkaari<em> – One who seeks: scientists, philosophers, or those who seek knowledge  
><em>Asit tal-eb – <em>The way things are meant to be  
><em>Ataash<em> – glory  
><em>Ataash varin kata<em> – In the end lies glory  
><em>Imekari<em> – child  
><em>Kata<em> – the end, death  
><em>Lands From Before<em> – the lands from which the Qunari came (they came to Thedas from across the ocean 300 years before the Fifth Blight)  
><em>Sten of the Beresaad<em> - Commander of the Vanguard  
><em>Tammassrans<em> – those Qunari who are in charge of education among the Qunari  
><em>tarikh – <em>history (to the Qunari, history and 'tale' and 'story' all have the same importance and intonation, unlike English) Also, lower-case _tarikh_ is a small story, and upper-case _Tarikh_ refers to the Absolute Truth of the Qunari


	8. Once Upon a Time: Sten, Like, Totally

_Dailana Cousland, sadly, didn't learn much during the Blight except that fighting Darkspawn broke _waaaay _too many of her fingernails, armor should _totally_ be chosen based on appearance, and that the Qunari are, like, _weird_. She started out as a fluffhead, and ended as a fluffhead. Luckily for Fereldan, she also made one (and only one) selfless decision in her life and fed herself to the Archdemon._

_Crisis averted._

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* * *

><p>.<p>

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**Once Upon a Time: Sten, the Valley Girl Edition**

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_Once upon a time_ (or what_ever_), there was, like, this totally tall dude locked up in a cage in some podunk little town called Lothering. I mean, _seriously_, this town only had, like, _two_ shops, and I had to, like, _yell_ at some grody peasants to let me get at one of them. Yeah, I know, what_ever_, right?

Okay, so like, anyway, there was this totally tall dude in some rinkydink cage. So I tried, like, talking to him, but he, like, blew me off! _Me!_ I was all, like, "As if, dude, what_ever_!" and was _so_ going to leave him to the Darkspawn, but then the hottie - I mean, Alistair – pointed out that we could probably use some more help, and that maybe, if the totally tall dude came with us, I wouldn't break as many fingernails. So, I rolled my eyes and was all, like, "Fine!" and made the crazy Chantry chick unlock his cage. Then I had to, like, _persuade_ the totally tall dude to come with us! I was, like, "Bee tee em, take a chill pill and _get with the program!_" I mean, he finally decided to come with us, but, I was like, _duh!_

So, anyway, it turns out that the totally tall dude's name was Sten (um, yeah, what_ever_) and he was a Qunari or something. I figured out real fast that Qunari must mean clueless, because he didn't understand, like, _anything_. I mean, I picked out some totally gnarly armor for him, and he was like, "This does not provide adequate protection," and I was like, "But it looks majorly _sweet_!" He wanted to wear this totally bogus full plate armor that would have, like, _totally_ covered those killer muscles he was sporting. Yeah, gag me with a spoon, right?

And then he started going on about how, like, women shouldn't fight or something. I mean, _duh!_ How stupidly old-fashioned can you get? So I rolled my eyes at him and, like, told him to take a chill pill, because I was, like, totally _excellent_ at fighting and he should feel, like, _privileged_ to even _fight_ with me. So then he, like, totally attacked me! I was like, _Um, as if, dude!_ So I whipped out my sweet dual daggers and totally wailed on his sorry Qunari ass, and afterwards, he was all, like, "You are not quite as callow as I thought. That is unexpected." I was like, "Um, what_ever_, dude, just don't let it happen again."

So anyway, after, like, gallivanting around the world and having to deal with some totally bogus and grody dudes who, like, _soo_ didn't get the program and had to be, like, _forced_ into the realm of the chill pill, the totally tall dude finally clued me in on why he's, like, such a downer. Turns out that he didn't have, like, some special magic soul sword or something. Yeah, _way_! He actually said that the sword was, like, his _soul_ or something. What_ever_. I was, like, really tired of his whining, though, so I was all, "_Fine_, let's, like, find this bogus sword or whatever."

So we _finally_ found the sword in some _podunk_ little town called Redcliffe Village (oh, and I, like, totally found out that the hottie was, like, a prince or something. Bee tee em, like, _seriously?_ ) So I had to, like, get all, "Um, look, shorty, just, like, give me the sword," and the midget was all, like, "No _way_" and I was like, "Yes _way_" and he was like, "No _way_" and I was like, "Yes _way_" and he was like, "Over my _dead body_" so I was like, "Fine, what_ever_" and capped his sorry ass. _Duh!_

Okay, so I _finally_ got the special soul sword, or what_ever_, and gave it to the totally tall dude. Sten was all like, "Strange. I had almost forgotten it: completion. Are you sure you are a Grey Warden. I think you must be an _ashkaari _to find a single lost blade in a country at war." And I was like, "What_ever_, just don't forget it." Then he like started calling me _kadan_ or something, whatever _that_ means.

So after that, we were totally, like, BFF, and he did whatever I told him to. Yeah, totally sweet, right? Turns out the totally tall dude wasn't so bogus, after all.

Like, The End. What_ever!_

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><p>.<p>

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_Ashkaari_ - "One who seeks"; scientists, philosophers, or those who seek knowledge

Bee tee em – BTM, or By the Maker (Thedas equivalent to OMG)


	9. Once Upon a Time: Oghren

_Lesson learned: never, _ever_ ask Oghren who you are named after. _Ever._ Even if you are his only child and even if you are named after the person he respects more than any other. Not even Felsi can keep him in line when he really gets into a story._

.~^~.

**.**

**Once Upon a Time: The Dwarven Hero**

.

.~^~.

_Once upon a time_, while I was up to my sodding nuts in gold, ale, and women in Orzammar, a puny Grey Warden came through town, looking for some help with something or other. See, the problem was that the nug humping deshyrs in the Assembly couldn't decide which hand to grab their ass with, and there wasn't no King to help 'em out, so they sent me, the Pride of Orzammar, to the puny Grey Warden to give 'er a helpin' hand.

Of course that's how it happened, woman! Heh, doesn't use the sodding sense the Ancestors gave her. Now where was I?

So, this puny Grey Warden needed someone to show her around the Deep Roads, so I decided to help the poor kid out and go with her. Good thing I did, too. She was completely clueless about the least little thing. She even had a red-headed friend who thought that nugs were cute. _Cute! _Like you need to be _cute_ to be tasty.

Hmmm, actually, strike that. The red-headed friend looked cute _and_ tasty, heh heh...

Be quiet, woman. I am _talking _here. Sodding nosy nug humper.

Anyway, we went through the Deep Roads like bad ale through an elf's lower intestine - leaving a path of destruction and pain in our wake that would be talked about for years to come. Of course, I had to keep giving the puny Grey Warden pointers along the way since the poor thing kept trying to rely on her friends for help. _Honey, _I told her,_ there aint nothin' they can do that ol' Oghren can't do better. Not even that pure little ex-Chantry boy. _Pity she didn't believe me. I would have liked a piece of that rump roast, let me tell ya...

Oh, come on, woman, i hadn't even left Orzammar at that point, much less found you again. No need to get yer knickers in a twist.

So finally we reached Boner-mar _(Heh, heh, get it? Boner-mar? I kill me sometimes...) _and met up with some of the Dead Legion. Man, let me tell you, they just about pissed themselves trying to shake hands with the ol' Oghren. I mean, not only was I one of King Endrin's personal advisors, but even the Dead Legion knew that in the end, it was really up to me to tell the deshyrs who should sit on the Throne of Orzammar next. If I hadn't been so busy with the aforementioned gold, ale and women before the puny Grey Warden came along, I probably could have saved her a lot of trouble and helped her spend her time in Orzammar a lot more pleasantly, if you know what i mean, heh heh...

Silence, woman! I was just getting to the point! Sod it, you'd think I was a kid just like little Ellissa here, the way you keep glaring at me. _I'm_ telling the story, not the sodding Ancestors!

Finally, after slogging through the horrors of stinky spiders, dinky deepstalkers and a gross of Darkspawn, we reached the Anvil of the Void. Unfortunately that was when the crazy carpet-muncher called Branka made an appearance.

Yeah, the Paragon Branka. You know, yer old man was married to her once. Yup, had a dandy of a time, too. Unfortunately, Branka just couldn't keep the ol' bronto greased properly no matter how hard she tried, so she took a bunch of people with her and retreated into the Deep Roads in despair. Never let another man touch her again, neither, cuz once you've had yours truly there ain't no going back, and that's the Ancestors' own truth.

Stop hitting my arm, woman! I'll let you explain the details to 'er later, but I'm tryin' to tell a story here! Sodding thunderhumper!

So the crazy carpet-muncher tried to sweet-talk me into takin' her back again, but I her told I wasn't havin' any of it. _You had yer chance at paradise,_I told her. _I'm just here because of the puny Grey Warden._ Well, let me tell you, she just about threw herself all over the puny Grey Warden, promisin' her anything she needed if she could just be with us for a while. So we all trooped to where the room that held the Anvil of the Void lay, only to find a sodding army of golems lying in wait.

Well, i was not happy with the crazy carpet muncher, let me tell ya. _What gives? _I demanded. Heh, turns out that the crazy carpet muncher was trying to pull a fast one to get us to give her the Anvil when in fact the Paragon who _made _the Anvil had been protecting it from her crazy ass. Well, I was not happy, and neither was the puny Grey Warden, so we helped Caradin – ya know, the Paragon who made the Anvil – deal with her in a suitably heroic fashion. Yup, it was hard to kill her like that, her bein' the ol' ball and chain an' all, but when ya gotta be a hero, ya gotta be a hero.

Would you stop bein' such a surly bronto and just keep still? Ellissa's lovin' the story, aren't ya? See? Hangin' on her daddy's every word, she is!

So I convinced the Paragon Caradin to make a crown for the new King of Orzammar, and since it was _me_ askin', he did. Then me and the puny Grey Warden helped destroy the Anvil of the Void and trooped back to the deshyrs of the Assembly to give 'em a what for fer sending the puny Grey Warden on the quest in the first place when they shoulda just dragged me out of my harem and treasure room to deal with it. In the end, on my advice, the puny Grey Warden chose to put the badass bastard Bhelen on the throne – because we knew that, whatever he did, the noble and warrior castes would get it the worst from him, and we figured they needed to be taken down a peg or two – and sashayed right out of Orzammar, leaving him behind to deal with the mess.

But that's not really why I named you after the puny Grey Warden. See, I gave you her name because… well, now, this is kinda embarrassing to admit, but… well, because she helped me and your mom get together.

Yeah, I love you too. You frigid deepstalker. Saay, how 'bout, after the little tyke is in bed, we go off an' polish the ol' anvil, hey? Heh. I'll even have the soap ready, this time.

The nug-humpin' End


	10. Once Upon a Time: Shale

_When in the course of Thedas events, it becomes necessary for one person to explain the details of your love life, remember this one, very important fact: never, _ever_, let the golem answer on your behalf. _**Ever.**

.~^~.

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**Once Upon a Time: The Stone Never Forgets**

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.~^~.

_Once upon a time, it was in love?_ That is all it can recall? Well, I suppose it is inevitable given the events of the past year or so that its flesh mind would be unable to recall the exact timing and nature of what transpired on our journey, but it still seems a bit early to have forgotten the details to such an egregious degree. Still, since it is obviously in need of assistance to relay the tale, I shall gladly provide it.

No, of course I don't mind. It should be quite amusing, in fact. Now, let me _see_, where to begin...

Well, I suppose I could start with the most _interesting_ part of your journey. Does it recall? That atrocious little town of Honnleath, naturally, where I had spent the previous thirty years in the most dreadful sort of captivity: boredom. Nothing to do but watch the foolish flesh creatures go about their boring routine and their boring lives and their boring coupling rituals - oh, the very thought of it makes me cringe. And then there were the birds... oh yes, the birds...

Yes, yes, I know that _it_ started its journey in Ostagar, but I decided to start at the _interesting_ part, to keep their attention. It should know how limited the attention span of its fellow flesh creatures is, does it not? However, since the inquiry is related to its nocturnal activities and not necessarily the _other_ details of its journey - not that it kept those activities restricted to the hours of the night, it must be noted - perhaps I should restrict my own comments to those activities as well.

That is rather an interesting color it has decided to adopt. Has it perhaps engaged in nocturnal activities? I had noticed that red is its dominant color following such exercises when we were-

That was a rather rude retort. Well, since it seems to be incapable of simple civility at this point in time, I shall endeavor to _fully _answer the question on its behalf. Unless it would prefer the squishy response? Ah, I rather suspected that would be the case. Shall I continue?

Its nocturnal activities, if I recall correctly, began shortly after the painted elf joined the party. Although _what _one could _possibly _perceive to be of value in a flesh creature that attempted to end its already tragically short existence is beyond my ability to comprehend. I suppose that it is the flesh itself which slows down the thought processes, preventing any clarity or cleverness from manifesting in its fragile state. Thankfully, this is not an issue for me.

The noise, as I recalled, was quite annoying, particularly during the first few nights. It was rather amusing to hear the complaints of the other flesh creatures when their sleep is disturbed, since I cannot, of course, sleep and had to endure the _sounds_ for _hours _and _hours_ with no surcease. Honestly, how many different ways can it think of to shout to its invisible sky mage in various whiny and high-pitched tones of voice, anyway?

No, I don't think that is _too much information_ in the slightest. It isn't as if it tried too hard to hide its activities, even when outside the camp. Does it recall the time it asked me to stand in front of the painted elf and itself inside that store in Denerim - oh, what was it called? Ah, yes the _Wonders of Thedas_ - so that it could "test the magical efficacy of the Chasind fertitily carving?"

Interesting. Now it is a far _deeper _shade of red. Why is the painted elf hiding its face and shaking? _*Sigh*_ The foibles of flesh creatures are quite incomprehensible. It is indeed a wonder that they are considered _the_ power on the face of Thedas.

Now, where was I...? Ah, yes.

It wasn't too long after that, of course, that its attention wandered to the sister. Now, this I could understand a bit better, as the sister is much more kind, if a bit _misguided_ in some of her beliefs. However, if I had thought that any sort of aural reprieve would result from this change of partners, I was completely mistaken. No, it wasn't the singing and humming, though the incessant love songs _were _a bit grating after the first week, I will admit. And no, it wasn't the multiple renditions of stories of dead flesh creatures and their tears somehow being stars, or some such nonsense. No, it was the fact that now there were _two_ voices calling to the invisible sky mage in endless repetition each night. What is it with the female of its species that invokes them to call out to an invisible sky mage whilst engaging in nocturnal - or diurnal, in _its _case - activities? It is quite tiring to listen to, hours on end, day after night after-

Well, yes I suppose I have _sufficiently_ summarized its many activities with the sister. If this is the case, as it so correctly pointed out, then I suppose I must move on to the worst one of them all.

The clown knight? With its snoring, and its odd nose pulling, and its jokes that are not funny, and its... its... _pike twirling_. And it eats birds. Birds! Those filth-ridden vermin of Thedas, and it _eats_ them! And enjoys it! Disgusting! The painted elf, at least, was experienced in nocturnal activities before it began the nightly massages. But the clown knight made it quite clear that it was a complete fool in the tent as well as elsewhere.

An odd choice of phrase, that. How can I let _it_ lie when _it_ is standing right next to me? The odd little turns of phrases that the flesh creatures utilize is beyond my comprehension at times.

At any rate, although it was amusing at first to hear a male of the species cry out to the invisible sky mage, that unique aspect quickly palled when it became quite evident that the clown knight preferred outdoor erotic activities with it. I mean, really, was it truly necessary to _engage_ in such activities behind a well next to the Chantry in Denerim? Yes, I know the clown knight felt it an _appropriate _prank, but I fail to perceive the humor in the situation.

Odd, now the clown knight is turning quite the same shade of crimson as _it_ has been sporting. I shall have to keep this in mind as an excellent way to keep it warm. Thus when it is cold, it will not need to ask the clown knight to dash off to the nearest grove of trees to-

Ah, it is leaving I see. My word, what a rude gesture. It is experiencing its time of the month, I suppose. I shall alert the swamp witch to make up some more of that concoction for it. I don't think it wants a repeat of that unfortunate incident in Orzammar. I don't think that the proper way to select a monarch is to concuss it with its own crown, no matter the provocation.

To each their own, I suppose.

Oh, and since you flesh creatures seem to need to be told when the tale is over: The End

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.~^~.

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_invisible sky mage = _Maker (based on the 'invisible sky wizard = God' in our world)


	11. Once Upon a Time: Tale of Two Assassins

_This is just a quick little story I wrote to cover my two video game obsessions - Dragon Age and Assassin's Creed. _

.~^~.

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**Once Upon a Time: A Tale of Two Assassins**

**.**

**.~^~.**

_Once upon a time,_ there was a dashing, dangerous assassin who enjoyed dancing across the rooftops, flirting with danger, and waltzing with death. All across the land his deeds invoked quiet whispers and hushed tones, sparked awed fear and mindless bluster, inspired brave deeds and deadly dealings.

A master of many blades (including most definitely _*that*_ one, oh yes), the dashing, dangerous assassin roamed the land in search of vengeance against his enemies, against those who had dared destroy his life and his happiness, who had presumed to dictate to him what he should be, think, and do. Blades at each hand, he systematically hunted down each and every one of his enemies, ending their lives with a single well-placed lethal thrust of his hidden blade. (His _metal_ one. C'mon, stay with me here.)

So desperate were his enemies to escape the righteous wrath of their pursuer that they searched far and wide for one who would be willing to seek out the dashing, dangerous assassin and take him down. So it was that they found a lithe, lethal hunter who, for an exorbitant price, agreed to solve their problem for them. Discreetly, of course.

He utilized all his skills to locate the dashing, dangerous assassin and then settled in to watch his target. Over time he strove to learn his opponent's weaknesses and habits, scrutinizing his movements and methods.

Yet this time, something odd crept over him as he prepared to fulfill his contract.

As he gazed upon the graceful glissando of death, the lithe, lethal hunter found that he spent less time analyzing the hooded figure for weakness and more time considering what the figure and form of the other would be without that cumbersome white cloth around him. Instead of counting how many blades the man possessed, he considered how skillful those hands would be in other situations. As well, the whispers of what drove the man also reached his ears, of a child-brother executed for no crime other than his existence and a home violated only for petty arrogance.

_Such a luscious lothario of justice,_ pondered the lithe, lethal hunter, _deserves better than the death of some mongrel in an alley._

And so the hunter resolved to approach the dashing, dangerous assassin, though he knew not what he hoped to accomplish.

He waited on the rooftops of the largest building in this strange, foreign city, knowing that each and every day the man would climb to the top and gaze across the strange caverns and valleys of building and alleyways, mien thoughtful. Ever patient, he waited in the shadows of a nearby bell tower until he heard the faint scraping that indicated the incipient arrival of his prey. As the man pulled himself over the edge of the roof, he stepped forward. "I greet you, master of the dance."

The other man regarded him from under the shadows of his white hood, face obscured by the angle of the sunlight. "So, you reveal yourself at last. I suppose the Templars sent you?"

The lithe, lethal hunter shrugged modestly. "It is true that I was brought here to deal with what they termed a 'minor inconvenience.'" The hunter smiled at the snort that emanated from the shadows of the cowl. "Of course I took that description to mean that you were causing quite a lot of trouble down here in this Roma of yours and charged them accordingly."

The assassin tilted his head slightly. "You kill for money?"

"And you do not?" the hunter countered. "I have seen the riches you accrue with your actions, and the actions of your followers."

The other man was silent, obviously considering the words of the one before him. "This is true, but… there is more than you think."

The hunter waved a hand dismissively. "This I have heard. This I have… _investigated_, if you will." Reaching into his coat, he froze as the other man tensed. "Peace, my charming friend. I mean you no harm." Pulling out a rolled up piece of paper, he held it out to the man, who warily reached out to take it.

"And what is this?" he asked in his deep, beautifully accented voice.

"The contract for your life, my friend. Should you wish to… destroy it, I would not be of a mind to stop you." Turning, he added over his shoulder, "Your life is your own."

"Wait," the assassin called out. Puzzled, the hunter turned to regard the assassin. Tucking the paper into his voluminous white coat, the man stepped forward, lowering his hood, revealing a face that made the hunter sigh inwardly in envy and desire. "I sense we could easily share a common purpose, you and I. I would wish to shake the hand of a man with such honor."

Lowering the hood of his own cloak, the hunter stepped forward and clasped hands. "I am indeed honored to be acceded such regard from one who knew of my original intent."

The man's eyes flicked to the hunter's pointed ears, but only lifted an eyebrow. "You are indeed far from home, it seems. I am flattered that the Borgia saw fit to bring in such an… _exotic _individual to ensure my demise. Perhaps you would like to remain in Roma and join my Brotherhood?"

The hunter bowed, pulling his cloak's hood once again over his features. "I think it best if I make myself scarce for now, my friend. Your notoriety is great enough without one such as I to increase it unnecessarily."

The man chuckled, a rich sound that again made the hunter regret his decision to leave. "You are as intelligent as you are skilled, _amico_. Perhaps when my notoriety is unnecessary, you may return to these lands."

The hunter bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment. "High praise, indeed, my friend." A smile flitted across his face. "And now, if you will excuse me – I have always wanted to attempt this."

And with that, he turned, ran off the edge of roof, and flew like an eagle into the waiting haystack below.

As he smoothly vaulted out of the sweet-smelling pile of golden softness, he turned and glanced at the shadow that stood on the roof. With a swift salute, he turned and ducked into a nearby alley, heading for the road that would take him away from Roma, away from Ezio Auditore, and away from temptation.

_Ah, a wish for all that could have been,_ Zevran though wistfully. _But I fear it can never be._

The End


	12. Once Upon a Time: Loghain

_Our heroes are people and people are flawed. Don't let that taint the thing you love.  
><em> - Randy K. Milholland, _Midnight Macabre_

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><p><strong>Once Upon a Time: Loghain<strong>

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_The following is an excerpt from the speech made by Queen Anora at the unveiling of the statue dedicated to Loghain Mac Tir, the Grey Warden who slew the Archdemon Urthemiel_

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><p><em>.<em>

_Once upon a time,_ my father stood with humble stature, a boy like any other, with a heart that loved, a mind that pondered, and honor that cleaved true to those he had sworn to serve and protect. These qualities - noble qualities, truly, of a noble man - were not born of pride, or of privilege, but instead born of a boy who labored in the dirt for his food and saw his own mother slain by those drunk on their own power. Yet he did not surrender to despair, this boy; instead he _chose _to throw in his lot with those who stood against tyrants, against lies, against the taking of freedom. And among these warriors, he made his mark, both upon history and upon the enemies of Ferelden.

_Once upon a time,_ my father stood on the shores of River Dane, unaware that he would later become the Hero of that battle. He led the charge against the invincible Chevalier where others would have faltered. He stood at the side of the rightful King of Ferelden, long before the head of that man bore the crown. He swore his life and life's blood to the country of his heart to ensure it would be re-forged into a strong nation for a strong people. With Ferelden thus restored, at great personal sacrifice to himself, Loghain willingly gave of his talents and time, ensuring that Ferelden remained free from those who sought to enslave her once more. He _chose _to give up his personal happiness so that the nation would grow and prosper. Thus, his nobility was acknowledged with a title never before bestowed upon a commoner, and Loghain Mac Tir, born of a farmholder, became Teyrn of the Realm.

_Once upon a time,_ my father stood once again at the crossroads of greatness in Ostagar, faced with a difficult choice: join a hopeless battle and fall, leaving Ferelden completely unprotected; or retreat from the field and fight the battle when victory could be assured. Though it tore at his heart, he decided to act for the good of the many rather than the good of the few and returned to Denerim, armed and armored with valuable knowledge to defeat the enemy when the time came. He _chose_ the difficult path, the misunderstood path, yet, though he still acted in the best interests of Ferelden, the people of Ferelden held it against him.

_Once upon a time,_ my father stood before those to whom he had given his blood, sweat and tears, and was judged wanting. Though he had proven his worth time and again, had fought with his own sword to protect those under his charge - including me, his own daughter - the Land turned against him, and he was found guilty: guilty of doing what had to be done, even if no one else would confront that simple truth. Rather than succumbing to those who sought his head, however, one stood against the tide of murder and declared that my father had earned a second chance, if he were willing to risk death for the good of Ferelden. And, naturally, my father _chose_ to accept this risk, since it was a risk with which he was well acquainted. So did my father become a Grey Warden, protector and defender not just of Ferelden, but all of Thedas.

_Once upon a time,_ my father stood, sword in hand, at the foot of Fort Drakon, preparing to face the greatest foe any could imagine: the Archdemon Urthemiel. He and the only other Warden willing to fight at his side fought their way through hordes of foul Darkspawn, aided by stalwart companions that nevertheless could not end the Blight on their own. And this time, as he fought his way through the hordes, my father faced not the _possibility_ of death, but the _certainty_ of it. When they finally reached the top of the tower and beheld the evil corruption that was the Archdemon, he _chose _to take certain death upon himself so that the one who had given him his second chance would yet live, and flourish.

_Once upon a time..._ my father lay dead atop his final, greatest enemy, giving his life gladly for the people of Ferelden. And so _I_ choose to establish this monument to his memory, to the memory of the man who gave everything - including his love and his life - to the country he loved above all else.

The End


	13. Once Upon a Time: Dog (Revisited)

_A/N: I realize this isn't quite in the spirit of the other 'Once Upon a Time' stories, but it is another saga of the Mabari story from Chapter 6, so it seemed appropriate to include this story in this arc. Written as a Secret Santa fic for the Cheeky Monkeys! Enjoy!_

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_.~^~._

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Spawn-Killer woke with a start, his sense of _world not right_ tearing him from the peaceful Grey Lands where he played with his litter-mates. He shook his head and heaved himself to his feet, trying to figure out where this sense of _wrong_ came from.

First he went to investigate the Smelly Snorer, who was usually responsible for disruptions of sleep in the evening. Tonight, however, he was lying on his side, snorting and scratching himself quite brazenly, and muttering, "Nug humper," continually under his breath.

_So _he_ is not the one who disturbs the night._

Next, he trotted over to Cheese-Eater, awake and staring at the fire. When he came up to his side, the Eater bared his teeth (in the manner that Spawn-Killer had learned meant friendliness rather than hostility). "Oh, hello, boy. Making the nightly rounds, I see."

Spawn-Killer allowed the Eater to scratch behind his ears, understanding the poor two-legger didn't know properly how to greet him. Of course, two-leggers were very odd in that regard, rubbing forepaws together rather than sniffing at the Source of Life. _How am I supposed to know your worth if I cannot determine the number and nature of your mates?_ It was a continual mystery. Leaning into the scratches, he whuffed, _"I am ensuring our companions are not disturbed in their time of vulnerability. Is it safe? I heard a noise."_

"Good boy," the Cheese-Eater responded.

After a good long glare, he heaved a sigh and moved away. As usual, this two-legger was not much help.

Perhaps the Singer would help. His ears perked forward as he headed around the fire, following a light floral scent for his next destination. Though she was as ignorant of proper etiquette as all two-leggers were, she, at least, had nails long enough to penetrate his scruff of fur and properly attend to his itches.

Alas, the Singer was asleep, already playing with her own litter-mates as she wandered the Grey Lands. Still... he moved next to her and nudged the pink bulge sticking out of the blanket it was bundled into next to the supine two-legger.

"_What? What? What? Is the Smelly Snorer after me?" _Fierce Pink Terror started from her sleep, legs twitching as if she were ready to run from the Snorer as soon as she awoke. They stopped moving when she noticed who had awoken her. _"Killer! Are you all right? Nothing's happened, has it?" _An odd little wibbling sound came from her. _"The Darkspawn haven't suddenly acquired a taste for nug, have they?"_ Her eyes widened. _"Quick! To fangs! To fangs!"_

"_No, no, nothing like that," _he growled softly, and she relaxed. _"I was just making sure the Singer is doing well."_

"_Oh! Oh oh oh, yes, of course!" _The long pink snout turned towards the Singer and snuffled, long ears twitching. _"Mother's fine."_ She looked at him, and wiggled slightly, glad to have been of assistance. _"Can I go back now?"_

"_Yes, return to your litter-mates in the Grey Lands. Thank you."_ He trotted on, leaving Fierce Pink Terror to her happy slumber.

Then he heard it: that sound that cut across the night and through battlefields, that could pull him from a solid sleep no matter what the hour: a loud, drawn-out groan from He Who Must Be Obeyed! With a sudden bark, he tore across the camp and into the woods beyond, barking and growling in an effort to rouse everyone about the _something wrong_ as he honed in on its source.

He skidded to a halt when he found He Who Must Be Obeyed, naked and defenseless, being... attacked by... Blinking, he tilted his head and watched as She of the Frost, also naked and defenseless, continued her rather intense greeting in the proper fashion of the Mabari. In fact, she seemed to be using far more than just her nose, combining the Mabari greeting of sniffing at the Source of Life with the two-legger tradition of rubbing forepaws together, except her hands were rubbing his Source. Sitting down, he tilted his head and gruffed, _"Why does _she_ get to greet you that way when even I can't? And why do you allow her to lick the Source?"_

She of the Frost pulled abruptly back from He Who Must Be Obeyed, making him moan again, and this time there was definitely something _wrong _in that sound. "Andraste's flaming knickers!" His hands went to his Source of Life, and he ended up curled on his side and groaning in pain.

"Oh, that mangy hound!" she cried, but Spawn-Killer refused to be distracted by compliments. If she were causing harm to He Who Must Be Obeyed...

He felt much better about the whole situation when some of the others arrived, weapons drawn, in answer to his call: the Cheese-Eater and Stoic One entered the clearing, ready to defend the companions. He barked a greeting at them, then turned back and began growling at She of the Frost. He stopped growling, though, when the Cheese-Eater began howling, teeth bared in a fashion that meant amusement. Puzzled, Spawn-Killer turned to face him, tilting his head and whining, _"What? She hurt him!"_

"You can all bloody go to the Fade!" She of the Frost snapped before blurring into the form of a raven and flying into the darkness of the forest around them.

"_And don't think you can hurt him again!"_ he barked after her, then trotted to the side of the groaning two-legger to make sure he was all right. He could always go and fetch the Dry Old Bat if He Who Must Be Obeyed needed her blue warmth to make him better...

"Oh, Maker, Aedan, I am _so _sorry," the Eater said from behind him. "He just started barking like mad, and, well, usually that means-" The Eater began making odd noises, and Spawn-Killer knew without looking that his teeth were bared again. "I suppose, in his defense, you _were_ making some very odd noises."

"Shut up, Alistair," He Who Must Be Obeyed grunted as he rolled into a sitting position. Spawn Killer began licking his arm and shoulder in relief at seeing him in one piece. "You mangy mutt, what am I going to do with you?" He grabbed Spawn-Killer's jaw in one hand and shook it a bit. "She wasn't hurting me, you silly fleabag. She was... ah..."

"Polishing your blade? Twirling your pike? Spitting your-"

"Shut _up_, Alistair," he growled. "Maker, Oghren's been a bad influence on you." Sighing, he put his forehead on Spawn-Killer's head. "Look, I'm just going to have to ask you to trust me. When I'm with Morrigan at night, you need to leave us alone. All right?"

"It is foolishness," the Stoic One interjected. "Some day we will not respond to your outcry, and it will be an Ogre atop you rather than the witch."

"Thank you oh so _very_ much for that lovely mental image, Sten," He Who Must Be Obeyed drawled, "but I think I'd prefer to take my chances." He stroked Spawn-Killer's neck. "All right, boy?"

Spawn-Killer whined. _"He's right! What if you're hurt, but I don't know to come?"_

"Don't try to change my mind by sounding pathetic. This is how it has to be." Spawn-Killer whined again, but eventually lowered his head and barked softly in agreement. After all, he _was_ He Who Must Be Obeyed. "Thank you. Of course, after tonight, we'll see if she wants to-"

"Worship at your Altar?" the Eater said, teeth bared once more.

"Final warning!" He Who Must Be Obeyed barked, though his teeth were bared as well. "Go back to the fire, boy. I'll be along in a minute."

Dejected, Spawn-Killer turned and began to walk back to the fire, knowing he'd done something wrong, but not quite sure _what._

"Aww, he looks so sad."

"He might forget next time if I don't let him suffer a little bit. Sometimes he's a bit... excitable."

"Well, obviously so are you."

"Alistair!"

Spawn-Killer looked up as some two-legger footsteps fell into place beside him. "You did the proper thing," the Stoic One said. "Warrior to warrior, I tell you this. It is not your fault that he refuses sensible advice."

"_Sometimes he can be very confusing," _he growled.

"It is the lot of those who live without the Qun to be confused in this manner." The warrior knelt and rested his hand on Spawn-Killer's shoulder. "I return to the watch. You return to your rest. Sleep well knowing that you have fulfilled your duty, even if others have not." Without another word, he stood and strode back to camp.

Spawn-Killer heaved a huge sigh and continued trudging back to the fire. Suddenly a tantalizing scent hit his keen nose, and he perked up alertly, sensing an opportunity. _Maybe it's a bone!_ He broke into a run and headed towards the beguiling scent, eager for something that he could use as an apology.

A few minutes later, when he laid the somewhat battered but still delicious smelling cake at the feet of He Who Must Be Obeyed and waggled his tail eagerly, he barked, _"Look! I found something special for you!"_

The two-legger bared his teeth. "Ah, thank you, boy. It's...lovely."

World back to being _good_, he trotted away. Now, if only he could figure out what to do with the half-rotten rabbit he'd found... Well, he _did_ still need to apologize to She of the Frost...

The End


	14. Once Upon a Time: Don't Call Me Pookie

**Once Upon a Time: And Don't Call Me Pookie!**

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><strong>

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"I told you, fool, she vanished without a word!"

Spawn-Killer's ears twitched as he dozed nearby, but he didn't leave the Grey Lands just yet. He'd caught the scent of something fascinating in the odd, formless landscape of his dreams, and didn't want to lose his prey just because She of the Frost was excitable.

"Morrigan, be reasonable."

Snorting, Spawn-Killer rolled onto his back, paws twitching as he tried to dig deeper into the Grey Lands. Clang of Metal was usually not a terrible fellow to be around, if a bit predictable, but that scent in the Grey Lands demanded Spawn-Killer's full attention… Oh, that marvelous scent… So close… Is that another of my kind?

"Reasonable, Alistair? Is that not what you told her right before we were attacked by those mercenaries in Denerim?" She of the Frost snorted. "And I hardly think it unreasonable to worry when Neria wanders off alone. Remember what happened last time?"

That pulled Spawn-Killer away from the tantalizing scent and out of the Grey Lands. With a whuff and a bark, Spawn-Killer rolled to his feet, whining as he looked at She of the Frost. "You think it could happen again?" he barked.

"See? Even the mangy mutt is worried." Spawn-Killer's tail wagged at the compliment, then stopped when he remembered She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was missing and might even be in danger…

"All right, all right," Clang of Metal said as he pulled himself to his feet. "Though I still think it's a bit creepy that you check her tent every night. What if she wants privacy?"

"You're just saying that because some day you hope to be inside it with her," She of the Frost sniffed.

"What? No, of course not!" Clang of Metal said as his face turned dark red. "I have the utmost respect for my fellow Warden!"

He's not near the fire, Spawn-Killer mused. Why does his face burn? Deciding it wasn't important, he gave his body a shake as he began to bounce back and forth, forcing his sleep-drugged body to wake up quickly.

"Indeed? 'Tis most strange, then, to see your respect - and gaze - directed towards her-"

Clang of Metal retrieved his Round-Metal-Thing with a clatter, obscuring whatever words would have come next. "Right, Neria, she's gone you say? Must get moving! The Frostbacks don't forgive much wandering, do they?"

Not caring why Clang of Metal was using such a loud, forceful voice, Spawn-Killer ran to the tent where She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored slept, sniffing until he picked up her scent. With a sharp bark, he ran back to where the two-leggers argued, running in a circle around them as he urged them to follow. He noticed others were rising - perhaps out of the same concern he felt - and barked louder, running to each and every one to make sure they were just as worried as he was.

"What is going on?" the Dry Old Bat asked, her voice dull with sleep. "Why is Pookie so upset?"

"Spawn Killer!" Spawn-Killer corrected with a sharp bark, but as usual, the two-leggers ignored him.

"Neria is not in her tent, and I fear she may have wandered too far once again," She of the Frost told the Dry Old Bat.

"Oh, dear." the Dry Old Bat sighed. "That does sometimes happen with young mages when they first leave the Tower. Perhaps I could help you look for her."

"No need, Wynne," Clang of Metal said as he bared his teeth at the older two-legger. "I'm sure I can find her."

"As if I'd let you go alone," She of the Frost said with a sniff. "We tried that in Redcliffe and look what happened."

"Look, I thought we all agreed never to bring that up again, all right?" Clang of Metal whined. "Besides, you're hardly one to talk after what happened in the Tower. At least I never made Neria cry."

"Oh? Then you haven't been paying attention, fool."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Spawn-Killer sighed and whined loudly to get their attention. "Can't you just fight like Four-Paws and bite each other? She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored might be in trouble!"

"Maker help me, why are we standing around arguing about this?" Clang of Metal asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've got to get out there before she finds something dangerous to be curious about. Wynne, take over watch of the camp."

The Dry Old Bat nodded. "I'll wake Sten to help keep guard. Now go find her. Poor thing probably thinks snow is fun when it's ten feet deep."

With another bark, Spawn-Killer ran back to the scent and began to follow it, not caring if the two-leggers followed at this point. The thought of She-Who-Must-Be-Adored stuck in a snowdrift somewhere made him hurry his pace into the night and the surrounding area.

By the time Spawn-Killer had followed the scent into snow deep enough for the footprints to turn into calfprints, the two-leggers had caught up with him, though he vaguely noticed they were still talking at one another in that tone of voice that, among the Four-Paws, was the equivalent of biting another's hindquarters. Ignoring them as much as possible, he followed the scent further until suddenly one paw slipped down into nothingness. With a yelp, he stepped back from the verge of the small cliff that had suddenly appeared in front of him before turning to whine at the two-leggers behind him.

"Oh, Maker, please let her be all right," Clang of Metal breathed softly as he looked over the edge and down into the impenetrable darkness. "I don't see anyone down there, boy. Are you sure this is where she went?"

Even as Spawn-Killer whined, "Yes!" the woman next to Clang of Metal, said in a harsh tone that made Spawn-Killer want to crouch and cower on the ground, "Who else do you think made those footprints, fool?" Light suddenly bloomed around them as she lifted her Funny-Smelling-Stick, a ball of white light surrounding the end of it, and Spawn-Killer smelled the scent of concern form a small cloud around her. "There," she said suddenly, pointing to the right. "An imprint in the snow. She probably took Oghren's shield to slide down the slope and then couldn't get back up."

Clang of Metal went to the imprint and prodded it. "It's about that wide," he agreed. "And she really enjoyed the shield-sledding on the way to Orzammar with my shield."

"Speaking of which…" She of the Frost said with a raised eyebrow, pointing at the snow once more.

"You're not serious," Clang of Metal breathed.

"We have to follow her path to learn where she is." Spawn-Killer tilted his head, not sure why She of the Frost sounded so irritated. He was just glad that she wasn't talking to him in that bad dog tone of voice.

"Let's just hurry, all right?" Clang of Metal said as he laid his Round-Metal-Thing onto the ground and then lowered himself into it.

"Believe you me, I find nothing to enjoy in these circumstances," She of the Frost said as she lowered herself to sit on him. "The mangy mutt can find his own way down. Push us off."

Spawn Killer watched with interest as Clang of Metal pushed the ground until his Round-Metal-Thing teetered on the edge, then suddenly barked and dashed forward, giving the two-leggers the extra push they needed to get over the edge.

"Pookie, no-!" Clang of Metal said, but it was too late. Spawn-Killer craned his neck to watch them go rolling down the slope, then wagged his tail and began to pick his own way down.

"My name is Spawn-Killer," he growled softly.

.~^~.

"Oh, you should be glad we need that nose of yours!"

Spawn-Killer ignored She of the Frost as he continued to follow the scent of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored through the thick snow. The snow will melt, I'm not sure why she is so upset. There's more important matters apaw!

"Not to mention Neria wouldn't be very happy if you did anything to him, permanent or not," Clang of Metal drawled. "And you're not the one with a very uncomfortable dent in… unmentionable places, are you?"

"Enough of your prattling," the woman responded. "Let's just find her and get back to camp. I suppose I should be grateful that he found her scent at all after the unceremonious way you took us down the slope."

Clang of Metal snorted. "Oh, so this is my fault, now?"

"Well, you were the one who showed her how to sled using a shield. If she hadn't gotten that fool notion in her head, we would not presently be tromping through the snow looking for her in the dead of night in the Frostbacks, would we?" Spawn-Killer heard She of the Frost gag slightly. "Did you have to drop me into the deepest drift on the way down?"

"Look, I didn't push us-"

Suddenly the snow gave way to rock, and the scent grew much stronger. Spawn-Killer barked and ran forward, following the scent to the entrance of a cave that would have been impossible to find in the darkness.

"Thank the Maker, she found a cave!" Clang of Metal said as he reached where Spawn-Killer was standing. "Do you think-"

Suddenly a familiar voice emanated from the mouth of the cave, one very familiar to all of them. "I knew if I bided my time, my patience would pay off. All it took was one moment of carelessness on your part, and now you are helpless in my clutches."

Spawn-Killer cocked his head, then sniffed the ground quickly. Ah, yes, there he is. He tried to cover his scent with that liquid he drinks all the time, that brandy of his. He noticed that both of the two-leggers suddenly smelled unhappy, and raised his head to look at Clang of Metal, worried.

Clang of Metal turned to She of the Frost with a frown. "That's Zevran," he said in a soft voice. "What's he doing here?"

"I never should have trusted a Crow like you," another person answered from the cave, and Spawn-Killer's ears perked forward as he panted and wiggled his tail. It was She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored! Confident that everything was all right, he started to trot forward.

Before he could bark in greeting to her, though, Clang of Metal reached out and clamped his hand over Spawn-Killer's muzzle, preventing him from proceeding further into the corridor. "Hush, Pookie," the man said in a quiet voice, oblivious to Spawn-Killer's mentally barked correction of his name. "He might hurt her if we aren't silent." Then he let go of Spawn-Killer's muzzle and patted him on the rump. "Better let us take care of it."

"Ah, but my dear, surely I have not been anything less than utterly, utterly charming?" He of the Smelly Boots' voice, though a bit faint from distance and echo, sounded as cheerful as always. "If ever you were going to be absconded by a scoundrel, surely you could do worse than a deadly, sexy assassin?"

"Are you sure we can trust that mangy mutt to stay behind and not interfere?" She of the Frost said warily as Clang of Metal began to move into the cave slowly. "What if he comes in barking and Zevran decides not to risk her escape?"

"Pookie wouldn't do anything to endanger Neria, that I'm sure of," Clang of Metal said softly.

Spawn-Killer inhaled to correct the man about his name one more time, then paused, thinking about the two-leggers words. She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored, in danger? From He of the Smelly Boots? He hunkered down onto the ground, confused. I thought she liked him.

As Spawn-Killer cowered, Clang of Metal edged into the cave, She of the Frost following after him like a silent shadow. After an agonizing moment of indecision, Spawn-Killer followed, but at a distance and as quietly as he could possibly manage.

"And here I thought I was the deadly sex goddess," Spawn-Killer heard his mistress say from deeper in the cave, but he was too busy trying to be as silent as possible to try to understand what she meant. Though Spawn-Killer saw mostly darkness, he could just make out a light at the far end of it, a flickering orange light that reminded him of the fire at the main camp.

"Oh, you most certainly are that, my dear," He of the Smelly Boots replied, his voice a bit louder and clearer now that Spawn-Killer was getting closer. "And I certainly intend to savor every last inch of that luscious form of yours before I must, regrettably, fulfill my contract."

Spawn-Killer really didn't know what He of the Smelly Boots was talking about, but he heard the tremble in the voice of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored as she gasped and said, "You wouldn't dare!"

Now Spawn-Killer could see them in the distance. She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was sitting on some blankets on the floor, her wrists and ankles tied with rope. He of the Smelly Boots held a blade to her throat and was baring his teeth as he looked down at her. Spawn-Killer trembled in place, fighting the urge to run forward and tear out He of the Smelly Boots' throat. Instead he shifted his paws restlessly, hoping that the two-leggers would do something soon - before He of the Smelly Boots did something to She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored.

Suddenly the cave grew colder as a ball of ice and snow launched from the shadows and enveloped He of the Smelly Boots, freezing him into place. As fast as Spawn-Killer was when he pushed himself into action, Clang of Metal was faster, running forward to bash into the elf with his shield, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. "Morrigan, untie Neria!"

"Alistair?" She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said in a startled voice. "Morrigan? What are you two-"

"You're safe now, Neria," She of the Frost said in a much more soothing voice than Spawn-Killer was used to as she hurried to Neria's side and cut the ropes at her ankles and wrists away. "I can't believe Zevran would do this to you."

"No, Morrigan, you don't understand," She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored started to say, but Spawn-Killer barreled into her at that point.

"Mistress! He had metal to your throat! You were tied up!" Spawn-Killer barked, running around the two women in a circle. "And he took most of your coverings! We need to find them again so you won't freeze when we can take you back!"

"I never trusted him," Clang of Metal declared as He of the Smelly Boots groaned beneath him. "Morrigan, throw me that rope. I'll see if I can tie him up. Unless you just want me to kill him, Neria?"

"Kill him? Andraste's tits, no, Alistair." She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored put her head in her hands. "Oh, Maker, this is why we left the camp in the first place." She winced and looked up. "Pookie, be quiet, please. Your barks are too loud in this place."

"Spawn-Killer!" Spawn-Killer barked out of habit, then sat on his haunches and panted, just happy that She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was safe.

"What do you mean, why you left camp in the first place?" Clang of Metal demanded. When He of the Smelly Boots stirred, he thumped his shield on the elf again - hard. "I don't understand."

She of the Frost, however, had covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking slightly for a few moments before they stilled. "Oh, I see. Well, then. It seems I owe you an apology, Neria."

"Are they joining in?" He of the Smelly Boots finally said from where he was pinned to the ground. "Is this a lovely surprise you've cooked up for me, my dear Warden? Tell you what, you can have Morrigan, and I'll take Alistair."

"Ah, I don't think Morrigan would approve," She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said with that odd twist to her lip that meant amusement.

"What are you talking about?" Clang of Metal demanded indignantly.

"Let him go, Alistair," Spawn-Killer's mistress said in suddenly tired voice. "You've ruined my birthday enough."

"Birthday?" She of the Frost and Clang of Metal echoed together, then exchanged a look that quickly turned accusatory.

"Yes, and Zevran had planned a lovely surprise for me, a surprise that you just walked in on and ruined rather thoroughly." When Clang of Metal's brow wrinkled and smelled confused, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored sighed and said, "Remember that book I gave you as a gift for St. Havard's day?"

"Oh, you mean Fifty Shades of Grey War-" Clang of Metal suddenly turned the oddest shade of bright red as he looked down at He of the Smelly Boots, who was now baring as many of his teeth as possible, then hurriedly got up. "Oh, ah… Oh. Um, yes, well, ah… I'll… just be over there blushing, shall I?" Quickly he hurried away a few steps, muttering to himself.

Spawn-Killer tilted his head and whuffed, "What's wrong with him?" but the two-leggers ignored him. Instead, they were making that odd snorting noise they called laughter. When He of the Smelly Boots went to offer his hand to his mistress, however, Spawn-Killer dropped into an aggressive stance and growled.

"Oh, Pookie, he's fine. We were… playing."

"Spawn-Killer!" he barked, then trotted closer and put his head on her knee, looking up at her and blinking sorrowfully. "And he had metal to your throat."

"You'll just have to trust me, Pookie. And Zevran." She nodded towards He of the Smelly Boots, who bowed to Spawn-Killer. "For me, all right?"

Spawn-Killer growled, then whined, then heaved a great sigh and flopped onto the ground. Two-leggers are so confused. It's a good thing she has me.

"So how did you find us, anyway?" He of the Smelly Boots asked with a raised eyebrow.

Clang of Metal turned around and pointed at She of the Frost. "It was all her idea. She looked in your tent during our watch and told me we had to find you."

She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored turned to She of the Frost. "You looked in my-"

Settling her arms across her chest, She of the Frost glared at Clang of Metal. "The fool is partially right, but he was the one who insisted that Zevran meant to harm you."

"Ah, he did say that he was going to fulfill his contract. Pretty damning stuff if you ask-" Clang of Metal began.

"Only to someone who has the wit of a buffoon and the sexual expertise to match," She of the Frost said as she stood.

"Oh, now that's a low blow." He of the Smelly Boots looked at She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored and bared his teeth. "This could get interesting."

"Uh, could this wai-" She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored began.

"It's hardly any of your business what kind of expertise I have, is it?" Clang of Metal demanded, not seeming to hear Spawn-Killer's mistress.

She of the Frost waved an arm through the air, her eyes still looking to Clang of Metal. "Well, at least I never asked if they served broth in a brothel, Alistair. What conclusion was I supposed to draw when you did, I wonder?"

"He said what now?" He of the Smelly Boots chuckled.

"Well, at least my mother didn't want to kill me," Clang of Metal said as he took a couple of steps towards She of the Frost.

The woman snorted. "True, but at least she didn't abandon me as a child either."

Spawn-Killer rolled over, trying to cover his ears with his paws. "Why don't you just bite each other instead and get it over with?" he whined plaintively.

"Um, I'm actually getting quite cold now that-" She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said, trying to interrupt them.

"Oh?" Clang of Metal demanded, taking another step forward until he was only a short distance from She of the Frost. "Well, at least I don't run around flaunting my magic at every turn."

"And at least I don't sound like the contents of an iron foundry being rattled in a steel barrel when we're traveling!" She of the Frost snapped as she stepped forward to glare up at Clang of Metal from mere inches away.

"Ah, Neria is quite distressed," He of the Smelly Boots said, looking at She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored with a scent of concern hovering around him.

The objection was quickly overpowered by Clang of Metal slamming his fist against his chest. "You mean like that?" he demanded. "At least I don't complain about the armor that makes sure the blades of our enemies don't find you!"

"All right, that is it!" Spawn-Killer's mistress snapped, waving her hands through the air. Suddenly Clang of Metal and She of the Frost crumpled to the ground, snoring. "Huh. It actually worked." Shaking her head slightly, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored reached down and grabbed the other woman, dragging her to a boulder on the other side of the cave. "Zevran, grab the rope and bring Alistair over here."

Spawn-Killer watched curiously as She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored and He of the Smelly Boots propped the snoring two-leggers onto the boulder, sitting with their backs to each other, and then tied the rope around them. He whined and covered his ears again when his mistress pointed her finger at the rock and began to move her finger over the surface, causing a high-pitched squeal to fill the cave.

When she stepped back from the rock with a nod, He of the Smelly Boots tilted his head. "Time-Out Rock?" he asked with a great baring of teeth.

She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored lifted and lowered her shoulders. "They were acting like children, so I'll treat them like one. Besides, this way we can go have fun somewhere else."

"Ah, but you know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?" He of the Smelly Boots sighed heavily. "Children need a supervisor, or alas, they tend to figure out ways to evade their punishment."

"Hmm, true." His mistress looked over to Spawn-Killer, who quickly wiggled his haunches back and forth and gave her a proper grin, mouth open and tongue lolling. "You still have that crate you brought with the… ah, supplies?"

"Maker forbid I plan one of our sessions without it, but yes."

"Bring me some string and a plank of wood." She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored looked at the two sitting on the rock, since the snoring had abated and they were beginning to wake up. "I've got an idea."

"What is the meaning of this?" She of the Frost demanded indignantly after she awoke and started to struggle against the bindings.

"Hey, ow! Don't do that, it pinches!" Clang of Metal protested.

Before either of them could say anything further, Spawn-Killer's mistress spoke in a sharp voice, one that made Spawn-Killer instantly feel guilty that he had done something wrong. "Until you two can act like adults, I'm not letting you off of that rock. I had to improvise since we're not at camp, but I trust my meaning is perfectly clear. Until you both apologize to each other - and to me - you can't leave that rock. Understood?"

"This is absurd," She of the Frost began, but She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored cut her off.

"No exceptions. Oh, and me and Zev are going to go have that fun you interrupted, so feel free to talk amongst yourselves until I get back."

"You're not going to- Not here, are you?" Clang of Metal asked, his face turning bright red again.

"No, but don't worry. You'll be in good paws." Taking something from He of the Smelly Boots, she moved her finger over the plank's surface. The smell of burning wood filled the cave, and she turned the wood around to show the two sitting on the rock. "What does this say?"

Clang of Metal had to crane his neck, but finally he ventured, "Warden?"

With a nod, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored quickly tied a string around the sign, then turned and deposited it on Spawn-Killer's neck. "There we go. He's me, for all intents and purposes, until I come back. Pookie, listen carefully."

"Spawn-Killer!" he whined, then subsided. No-one ever listened, anyway.

"I want you to make sure they stay on that rock until they apologize or until I come back. You remember that word, right? 'Sorry'?" Spawn-Killer whimpered and bobbed his head. "Good boy. This is very serious business, so make sure they don't move."

Spawn-Killer barked and turned in a quick circle, showing he understood. "I won't fail you, mistress!"

"There's a good boy," She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said as she hugged him, then scratched behind his ears. "Now go guard."

Spawn-Killer quickly moved en pointe, staring at the two intently for a while. In fact, he was staring so intently, he didn't notice when He of the Smelly Boots and She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored left. Whatever the sacred trust of Time-Out-Rock was, Spawn-Killer would defend its sanctity.

Even if she did insist on calling him Pookie.


	15. Once Upon A Time: Flemeth

_Once Upon a Time…_

Such a quaint phrase, is it not? To imply that matters only occur once, or that important matters take place only in a distant time. And yet here we are, or more importantly, here _I_ am, and here _you_ are.

Know you not who I am? I am Flemeth, child. Yes, _that_ Flemeth. Witch of the Wilds is but one of the names given to me by tales both amusing and true. What is a story but history made fantastical, after all?

You doubt me? I met the Warden who killed the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight when they were but a stripling, a mere child mewling at the breast of their beliefs and wailing that the world made no sense. I gave them what guidance I could and sent them on their way, and it worked, did it not? The Archdemon is no more, Urthemiel laid low at last.

Secret smile? I do not know to what you refer, child. My smile holds no secret. Mystery, perhaps. But that is a tale for another time, another place, and another hero.

Hmm, so you still question my word? You have heard of the Champion of Kirkwall, have you not, child? Again it was I, Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, who found them on the brink of disaster and offered aid. What was the Champion like? Well, the first time we met, Hawke was… not the Champion, that is for certain. Brash, perhaps. Some would say angry, or kind, depending upon mood and the time of day. I rather liked Hawke, but the Champion required a crucible, and Kirkwall provided that quite well, I think.

How did the Hawkes end up in Kirkwall? Family is a strong tie, child, even when you would rather cut the ties which bind. Or did you mean how did they survive the trip where others did not? Well. They had a bit of help from on high, you might say.

The Maker? Don't make me laugh, child. And no, I shall not say anything further on the matter.

So, you need to be on your way? To the meeting, child. The one between the mages and the Templars. Of course I know of it. I also know that the events which occur there will decide the fate of all Thedas. Change is coming to the world, and even now the one who will set them free stalks the land, leaving change in their wake. Still, be on your way. You were fortunate I was here to aid you, but that is no reason to delay you further.

What is the catch? That is for you to decide. But when the time comes, remember: see what is there, not what you are told is there. Believe in your own heart, and not the hidden shadows in the hearts of others. Release your regret, and prepare yourself for what is to come. It is the only way to weather the coming storm.

Is it fate or chance? I can never decide. One day, child, you shall discover which it is.


End file.
